


Know Your Enemy and Know Yourself

by scandalsavage



Series: Gods Among Us [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, gods don't know shit about humans, questionable rationale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-02 21:55:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21168491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scandalsavage/pseuds/scandalsavage
Summary: Deathstoke, the God of War, really doesn't understand what's happening. This little mortal boy tried to steal his husband. So why is he feelinganythingfor the doomed creature?





	1. After WAtGP Chapt. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Finally some of Deathstroke's POV. 
> 
> We really needed some.

“What’s going on?”

Nightwing’s voice cuts through the dwindling haze of anger and jealousy and the rising feeling of desire and _need. _Feelings entirely alien to Deathstroke outside the connection he shares with his husband. It’s weak, but the fact that it’s there at all is equal parts fascinating and concerning.

“And how many times have I told you to stop turning this place into a creepy dungeon every time I leave?”

He finishes pulling out of this weird human boy, a satisfied smirk curling his lips at the lewd wet sound and pained groan. He’d bet his immortality Nightwing never did what he just did to this kid.

Deathstroke lets the human, Jason, collapse to the floor, idly musing over how the species has lasted so long when they’re so fragile, as he turns to face his husband. “Welcome home, my love. We need to talk.”

The god of love’s deep blue eyes find the prone creature at his feet and a brief wave of irritation flashes through Deathstroke as recognition, then anger, floods the other’s face.

“Is that Jason? What have you done to him, you fucking brute?”

“I showed your human slut his place,” he growls. Nightwing doesn’t have the moral high ground here, he has no right or reason to be angry. Despite this absolute fact, his husband still looks incensed.

“I told you about him—“

“Yes, you told me about the mortal bitch who’s kept you on earth for _over a year_. What did you think was going to happen?”

Nightwing’s jaw falls open in shock, “Not this!” He shouts in disbelief, “I told you he was special, and I thought you would like him too.”

Truthfully, Deathstroke does feel like maybe he got _a little _carried away. Especially after whatever that was there at the end, after all his righteous fury had burned away and he could feel again. He’s not as experienced with human lovers as his husband, most of them can’t handle his predilections. But there was _something_ about this kid. As much as Deathstroke is loath to admit it, _something _sparked.

“You’ve been gone for over a year. I had to get your attention—”

“That’s bullshit, D. I _just_ spoke to you.”

Deathstroke toes the kid’s unconscious body, rolling him onto his back. He sees the appeal, why his husband is physically drawn to this one. Despite what he said to the little mortal to hurt him, he’s attractive in a familiar way that the god of war can’t quite put his finger on. And he looks just as good ruined and covered in Deathstroke’s marks as Nightwing does.

With the added bonus that the purple bruises dug into his skin will stick around a good while longer.

“We’ve talked about this in the past,” Nightwing snaps, kneeling at the boy’s side and examining his injuries. “You can’t go around torturing people on my behalf.”

“This wasn’t for you. This was for me.”

Frowning, he watches Nightwing start to heal the worst of the kid’s injuries, muttering curses when he finds something particularly appalling to him. Like the fractured hip Deathstroke is sure the little homewrecker didn’t even notice.

And the truly horrifying amount of internal damage he did (not to mention he external tearing).

“Gods, D, you almost killed him,” Nightwing mutters, tenderly lying his hands over every small crack in brittle bones, every bloody scrape.

Deathstroke’s scowl deepens when, to his disappointment, Nightwing starts to clear out the vivid, darkening map of fingers on pale, clammy skin.

“Leave it,” he growls when his husband goes for mottled band around the kid’s throat. “If we’re letting him live, he’ll need a reminder of his place.”

Nightwing tosses him a deeply unamused look but doesn’t heal it.

Then, to Deathstroke’s surprise, Nightwing stands, looks around scrunching his nose, and gloom of the medieval dungeon recedes in favor of their more traditionally styled, airy chambers. Admittedly, he likes the white marble and soft, gauzy fabrics in his and his husband’s colors much better as well.

But it’s not as good for intimidating disrespectful human whores who have somehow managed to steal the one thing in this godsforsaken universe that the god of war actually cares about.

“You’re just gonna leave him like that?” Deathstroke asks, gesturing at the body breathing shallowly on the floor between them.

He smirks when Nightwing pink and huffs, turning away from him to pull the cover back from the neatly made bed.

In an instant he’s standing behind his husband, wrapping his arms around his waist and enjoying the weight of the god of love sinking into the embrace with half-annoyed, half-content sigh.

He’s missed this. So much. After a month without Nightwing, he feels like he’s… rudderless.

Nipping the ear at his lips, he lets his voice rumble deep and suggestive the way he knows Nightwing can’t resist. “It’s alright, my love. You can admit it. That you like seeing your pet ruined by me.”

The human looks as lovely covered in his come as Nightwing does and even as he says the words something dark and possessive burns brightly in his chest. It catches him by surprise. Because it’s not directed towards Nightwing this time. It’s directed toward the human. The boy can’t be _Nightwing’s, _he must be _theirs_.

And a much smaller part of him that he actively pushes deeper into the corners wants himself and Nightwing to be _his_.

The god of love makes an irritated noise and pulls away, returning to Jason’s side to gingerly scoop him up.

“Not _ruined_,” he grumbles, effortlessly carrying Jason to the bed and gently tucking him into a pile of pillows and blankets before brushing a crusted lock of hair off out of the human’s eyes. “But… without the injuries… just the mess and him looking so peaceful when he’s sleeping… it almost looks like you two… had fun together. Like you wore him out in a good way.”

Nightwing turns a hard glare his way. “Not like you nearly fucked him to death, and he blacked out.”

The stab of guilt that come from those words is so brief and alien to him that it takes Deathstroke a moment to puzzle out that it was, in fact, actual guilt.

Well that’s new.

And concerning.

“Who is this kid anyway?” He goes for subtle. Curious but unconcerned. Unfortunately, Nightwing sees straight through him.

“You’re feeling something, too aren’t you?” His expression is almost giddy, eyes wide with excitement. “I knew it. I knew this was too intense for you to not feel a connection as well.”

He wants to deny it, but he knows it would sound hollow and insincere.

He watches as that excitement smooths into something soft and affectionate when Nightwing’s gaze falls back to the boy. Is, again, surprised when he feels no jealousy or even annoyance at his husband looking at someone other than him like that.

“I don’t know what makes him so… I don’t know why I’m so drawn to him, but I think the fact that we both are _means _something. Don’t you?”

Deathstroke grunts. “Maybe. It’s definitely… unusual.”

There’s a quiet moment where they both just watch the human breath. It’s much slower, deeper, more even now that he’s settled and no longer in pain.

With a put-upon sigh, Deathstroke runs his own fingers through Nightwing’s dark (clean) hair and feels the last of his resentment burn out. “You want him to stay, don’t you?”

“I love him—”

“You love everyone.”

“Not the same and you know it.” Nightwing’s eyes are dark, calm blue pools that never fail to calm fires of his own passions before the torch everything. “I love him the way I love you. And I think you’re starting to feel like you could love him the way you love me.”

He feels like they should both be concerned about the fact that that statement is true.

“He’s not going to be happy when he wakes,” Deathstroke points out. “He’s going to hate me for obvious reasons and probably hate you for lying to him and making him stick around with me.”

“That’s ok. Apathy is the enemy. We can work with hate. Hate means he cares.”

“I don’t think—”

“We’ll just have to show him the truth. Remind him how much I love him, show him how much you want to.”

He makes it sound so easy. Deathstroke feels like it probably shouldn’t and won’t be that simple. But his husband knows more about humans and love than he does.


	2. During WAtGP Chapt. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _BOY_ does Deathstroke massively misjudge this whole situation.

Deathstroke may like Jason. He may be fonder of the boy than any human ever before. Which may not say much, since he generally doesn’t like humans, but it says _something_ because he pretty much considered that one Chinese kid—from… oh, a couple millennia ago? give or take half a century—his own son.

But Jason is still a _human_. He has no right to disobey a direct order from a _god_.

So, it makes Deathstroke feel relief when Jason says the Font is the reason Nightwing’s gift is nowhere to be found. At least their human partner didn’t disrespect his husband’s wishes. The Font are meddlesome goddesses and an annoyance. But they’re _powerful_ and he knows better than to mess with them.

Nightwing, apparently, does not.

Still, Deathstroke is already worked up. The kid is naked and smells nice and he’s clean. Looking down at where he’s sprawled out on the floor, all Deathstroke can think about is how nice that warm skin feels in his palms, how much he craves the fragile, tight, heat of the boy’s hole, and the delicious half-pained, half-pleasured sounds he makes.

Not to mention he finally has a human he can stand, one that isn’t as easily damaged as others and can handle his less than gentle bedroom manners. There’s something he’s always wanted to try that only works with humans.

He smiles down at Jason and tells him to turn over. A thrill shoots through him at the defiance when the kid doesn’t move immediately. He won’t tolerate any disrespect for his husband, but he personally likes a bit of insolence and rebellion. It doesn’t work with the fantasy he wants to act out now.

A playful threat has the boy obeying, shivering with anticipation. He’s following Deathstroke’s orders without hesitation now and that’s an entirely different kind of thrill.

He tells Jason to reach back and hold himself open so he and Nightwing can look at him and _gods_ if it isn’t a breathtaking sight. The kid is big for a human but he’s so tiny compared to them and the muscles that move under his pretty flushed skin are so soft. His hole is red and swollen. Loosened from use but not enough that it’s not still a stretch to take Deathstroke in.

They did that to him. Their beloved little human bears their marks and the evidence of their desire. He’s theirs and no one can take him from them. He thinks Nightwing would agree that this mortal has very quickly become the most important thing they have.

Humans blessed with the continued affections of the gods are not unheard of but they were still relatively uncommon even back when they regularly interacted. And Deathstroke knows none, even Nightwing’s favorites, never _lived_ with them in the Hall of Divinity.

But Nightwing is right. This one is _different_.

Deathstroke wants to take his time, fuck the kid slow and deep. More passionate romance than desperate lust.

And he can’t think of anything more romantic than his fantasy.

“Pray to me,” he rumbles, low and sultry into Jason’s ear. He’s always wanted to know—is sure Nightwing knows—what it would be like. To have someone praying for it while he gives it to them. To have his lover’s voice in his head like that. Similar but so very different to the way he can feel Nightwing’s love, the way it guides him when they’re together. He can’t think of anything more intimate between a god and a human. “Pray for _your god_ to fuck you into the stone. Beg me for it, hard and deep. Tell me to take my time.”

He can’t see the kid’s face but the way his shoulders shudder makes Deathstroke feel like this is the right track. They need this. To make up for the mess that was their first time together. They need this connection.

Jason’s silence lingers a moment too long and Deathstroke wonders if he awkward. They don’t yet have the same report that Jason has with Nightwing.

The kid just needs a nudge. Once they’re there, once they have their personal moment, they can start to build up to something better.

“Give me this, kid. Or I’ll take it anyway and punish you for disobeying a god.” It’s another playful threat. Deathstroke falls easily into the character of the almighty god.

Just for a moment, right as Jason starts his prayer, Deathstroke wonders if he made a mistake, if ‘demanding deity’ is too close to what he’s been for the human to know it’s part of a fantasy now.

Then the words of Jason’s prayer burn through his entire _being_. All the way to his cosmic essence. It _consumes_ him like ferocious, swirling infernos of all the stars in the universe. It is simultaneously the best thing he’s ever felt in his entire existence and the only thing that’s ever terrified him. Because he feels the _need_ to act. His desire to comply is _desperate _and overwhelming.

That the prayer commands him to do what he already wanted just increases that longing. He didn’t mean for it to be this extreme but he enters a kind of trance and by the time he comes out of it, it’s been _hours_.

He feels a little bad about that because even he knows that humans probably shouldn’t be knelt on hard, cold, marble for that long but it’s difficult to dwell on that when he hasn’t come that hard since the first time he and Nightwing made love.

Tension _flees_ his body in waves. He hasn’t felt this relaxed for… maybe ever.

The sight of Jason, once again covered in his release and slowly slipping into unconsciousness almost soothes the creeping anxiety about the intensity of what just happened.

Almost.

It makes Adeline’s and Wintergreen’s confirmation of his earlier suspicions even more unusual and worrisome.

Now is not the time to mention those though. He’ll wait for Jason to fall asleep so that he can’t overhear.

After depositing the kid onto the bed and pulling the blankets over him, his husband joins them so that their little human is bracketed, safe and sound between the two gods.

“I see what you mean, my love,” he mutters to Nightwing, and gently brushes a lock of raven hair away from the boy’s brow. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of him.”

He’ll talk to Nightwing about his discovery, about his history with little Jason Todd, the street rat who prayed to Deathstroke when he should have prayed to the Bat.

For now, he pulls the kid’s amusingly small body against his own larger one and reaches out for Nightwing to snuggle closer so he can hold both his lovers in his arms.


End file.
